Homeward Bound

I’m writing this as I wait for my final flight at the Amsterdam airport (well, to be honest, I wrote the last two blog posts here too). I’m utterly exhausted, and I’ve been so stressed for the past few days (and am anticipating so much stress in the next few days) that I’ve been shivering. Despite that, I can’t even tell you how excited I am to finally be going home. And not just home as in the-house-I-grew-up-in-where-my-parents-live-that-I-go-to-on-breaks, I mean home as in the US, home as in my family and my Wellesley friends and my dog, home as in being able to buy Taco Bell and the tray of Oreos, home as in the familiar. 

I’m not even homesick really. Definitely not homesick like I was my first few weeks at Wellesley when I used to call home crying because I packed everything I owned but forgot to pack notebooks and pencils and had nothing to take notes with the first day of class, or because I didn’t know how to use the laundry machines and accidentally shrunk all of my pants. Not even homesick like my first few weeks at Leeds when I was so lonely that I just felt sort of numb and empty and watched “Lost in Translation” all the time, wondering what I was doing, leaving Wellesley. I’m just excited to finally be going home, I’ve so so enjoyed my time abroad, I’ve had such wonderful trips, and made such lovely friends, and yet I am very ready to be back in the US. When they checked me in and asked, “Heading home?”, I almost shed a tear out of happiness (not something I do very often). But for some reason, I really was, am, that happy. 

I’ve heard the warnings about reverse culture shock, and I’m a little nervous about jumping back into Wellesley’s curriculum after my relaxing, and borderline boring, semester in Leeds classes, but none of that seems quite as important, just a low buzzing shoved aside by the mental celebrations. 

On the purely logistical side of things, the blog is all up to date now! If you're behind on my adventures and want some voyeuristic satisfaction, feel free to go through my Instagram, where many pictures of my adventures are posted. (Not gonna lie, I sort of gave up on the Photo Gallery page, it's a lot of coding work to maintain. Coding work I am unwilling to do). Friends and family, I have a fairly extensive photo album posted on Facebook!

The next, and last, post I write will be from the US! And I’m writing that sentence with a huge smile! 

Bonjour Paris!

That's For Me!

My arrival in Paris was not quite as happy-go-lucky as Audrey’s was in "Funny Face" (I got stuck at the airport for nearly an hour while military guys with machine guys cleared out an abandoned piece of luggage). Nevertheless, I was still arriving in Paris, and I was going to be in Paris for a week, and I was going to wake up in Paris for my birthday! It was all lovely and magical in my head! 

We stayed at this sweet hotel, the Hotel D’Orsay, which was, true to its name, just down the street from the Musee D’Orsay. Aunt Joy needed some time to recover from her many hours of travel, so we didn’t actually leave the hotel until after dark. It was strange, how I was suddenly just walking along the banks of the Seine, seeing the Eiffel Tower glow in the distance, just as it always had in pictures and movies. I didn’t have quite the reaction that I did to the Coliseum (see the post My Roman Holiday to read about my utter Classical History/Latin fangirl presented itself), but it was still an almost surreal experience at first. We took a boat tour that night, and then we ducked into the first restaurant we found because by the end of the boat tour it was pouring rain. Ethan, you’ll be proud of me, my very first meal in France was a cheese burger with fries. It was delicious. I have no regrets. 

We did so many things, I don’t even know how to narrow down my stories (I’m not doing a two-parter post like with Rome, that was a bit unmanageable for me). Of course, we hit all the major tourist spots— if you think “Quintessential Paris”, we probably visited it. The first day, we went to Notre Dame (a truly incredible example of Gothic Cathedral Architecture), San Chapelle (which had some stunning stained glass windows), and the Cluny Museum (which was interesting, and exhibited mostly medieval era artifacts, with a few ancient Roman artifacts thrown into the mix). I loved the tapestries at the Cluny, the Lady with the Unicorn series were lovely and enigmatic as promised. It wasn’t an absolutely thrilling day, but Aunt Joy planned the itinerary, so I just sort of shuffled along behind and enjoyed the sights. We actually got to see some of the bouquinistes along the Seine as we walked to Notre Dame in the morning! I would’ve liked to browse a little more, but time has a habit of getting away from you when you’re on vacation. It was kind of strange, after having traveled alone for a week, to have to match up my own expectations with another person’s, and to meld your must-see itineraries. It was still a lovely weekend and I got to see and do not all but many things I’d wanted to!

The Grand Gallery

Of course, we did the major museums. The Louvre was insane, and particularly so because we happened to visit on city free day, so it was insanely busy. There was an incredible exhibition of Islamic art, the likes of which I’d never seen in the US in terms of size and range of the collection. I’m a huge fan of Islamic art, and this exhibit did not disappoint. I lingered so long, Aunt Joy had to remind me how much else there was to see in the museum. We saw some Da Vincis, and even spotted the Mona Lisa from a distance (honestly, the crowd was so insane, they need to put her in her own little room. Or use conveyor belts like they do with the Crown Jewels in England, so that you can get a look but not linger). I was very excited to see some famous works of art I had studied in high school history classes. 

I tried...

Of course, we also did the Musee D’Orsay, though it was the last thing we did in Paris, so we were both exhausted. Still, their collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works was great! Once again, so many pieces I’d only ever seen in books, came to life! I think one of my favorite museum experiences in Paris, and overall, however, was at the Musee l’Orangerie, which holds the giant Monet waterlilies. Their scope was astounding, and they were just so pretty. If you could fall in love with paintings, I think I might have fallen a little bit for those panels.

Aside from museums, we spent some time wandering. We went to the Marais one day, which is a trendy little area known for its quirky shops. Needless to say, I did some shopping that day. I also did some shopping the day we went to Montmartre. We took the funicular up the hill, and gazed down at the city from Sacre Coeur’s perch (before being hastily and alarmingly evacuated from the area. Oh Paris…). We wandered down the hill, hitting a few funky shops on the way down, and Aunt Joy scored some awesome vintage dead stock haute couture jewellery. I am very jealous! Though I definitely got my fair share of souvenirs! Montmartre was so charming, just as I imagined it after watching “Amelie”, though it seems to be a little touristy now. Parisians seem to view Montmartre the way New Yorkers view Greenwich Village.  

We spent quite a bit of time going out for “culinary experiences” as Aunt Joy once referred to them. For me, it was a week of the craziest, richest, fanciest meals I’d ever had in my life. Each place had a unique selling point. At one place, every dish was made with truffles, including the tiramisu I had for dessert, which was yummy, but weird because you could definitely taste the truffle. At another place, we had a tasting menu which was chosen entirely by the chef and sommelier, and which we, interestingly enough, ate blind. We were given a brief description of each dish, but we weren’t told what wine we were being served. In fact, for some of the courses, they served the wine in black wine glasses, so that we couldn’t see the color of the wine. It was crazy, albeit delicious. We had a really wonderful meal at the Jules Verne restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. Yes, *inside* the Eiffel Tower. I didn’t even know there was a restaurant there, but there is and we ate there. Again it was delicious and very fancy, but the views were insane. Also, we were *inside* the Eiffel Tower. The restaurant even gave me a chocolate cake-like dessert wishing me a happy birthday, or ‘Joyeux Anniversaire’, since it was France. It was really, quite lovely. 

View from the top of the Eiffel Tower

We took lots of photos from the observation deck, though we didn’t go all the way to the top. Though, as we were taking photos from the ground, Aunt Joy was amused at the fact that I was freaking out more about seeing the nearby bridge featured in ‘Inception’, than the fact that I was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. 

Me.

We spent a whole day at Versailles, which made Buckingham Palace look like a shack, and where everything was made of gold. The scope of the place was unbelievable. The hallways just seemed to go on and on, the gardens were exponentially larger than palace (which was already immense), and every item inside the palace was luxe and/or covered in gold. I loved the furniture and the carpets and the light fixtures. I loved it all. And that night, when we went home, I watched Sophia Coppola’s “Marie Antoinette” (you know, the one with Kirsten Dunst). It was cool to see them running around the rooms I had just toured, and also, I just like Marie Antoinette. She’s such a sad figure, I think, and I feel for her and her whole situation. But that’s for another time. 

Hall of Mirrors

Overall, it was a wonderful time. I saw so many cool pieces of art, architecture, and history that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see. I wandered, I ate, I shopped, I saw, and I turned 21. It was a great finale to my travel adventures! 

And of course, I wouldn't be me if I went on vacation and didn't buy a book (or a few...)

#AmsterdamAesthetic

I had been to the Amsterdam airport numerous times before, since it seems to be a central European hub and thus a prime locale for layovers, but I had never actually left the airport, so that was new for me. Luckily, I was met by my lovely Dutch friend Judith, who helped navigate me back to her student residence in Leiden, a city about 30 minutes outside Amsterdam by train, where I’d be staying with her. Riding the train to Leiden, I got to see a bit of the landscape, and Judith was kind enough to point out old fashioned windmills (they are real and look exactly like the drawings! How fun!). The geography was very flat, and actually reminded me of car rides and Amtrak trips through the Midwest, which surprised me. 

Lovely friend and tour guide, Judith

Judith, clever friend that she is, let me convalesce from my travels that day. She fed me snackums and then showed me around her town of Leiden. Leiden is quaint and absolutely picturesque. We walked around in the evening, so transition from gloaming to darkness was quick, bringing with it all the lights still up from Christmas. The lights reflected on the water of the ever-present canals, which in turn illuminated the row houses. It was all very charming. We walked and chatted and watched ice-skaters at the town center, and I had Dutch hot chocolate, which was so rich that it was like drinking a melted chocolate bar. That evening, I met Judith’s two best friends, Wendy and Stephanie, both of whom were lovely and amusing. The three of them together reminded me of my own best friends (shout out to 320!). I was absolutely exhausted from all the traveling, especially since I had just gotten off the plane a few hours before, so I wasn’t quite as bubbly and personable as I could have been—nevertheless, it was a great evening!

On the tram!

The next day, Judith and I took the train into Amsterdam bright and early! We took one of the trams to one of the outer rings to the Rijksmuseum. (So Amsterdam is full of canals, and many of the main canals are organised into ring shapes. Judith told me that at one point, how closely you lived to the center ring demonstrated how important and wealthy you were. That’s it for Fun Trivia With Austen in this post). The Rijksmuseum was very cool! It was full of exhibits on Dutch history, including several on their colonial and trading history, which was quite fascinating. My favorites, however, were the Dutch masters! I saw some Vermeers and Rembrandts that I had only ever seen in textbooks before! The museum wasn’t huge, so we didn’t spend more than a few hours there. 

Not a "Dutch Master", but he was Dutch and he was Masterful, so...

After that, we wandered a bit, and got lunch at a bagel cafe that was really yummy! We sort of just wandered around the rest of the day, looking at all the idyllic picturesqueness that is Amsterdam. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what about the architecture of Amsterdam I found so aesthetically pleasing, but it had something to do with the color of the houses (which were often either deep or pastel shades of cool colors, like blue or purple), and the way they sort of listed to the side due to how old they all were. Plus, the canals and bridges are so precisely set up, they make it all very nice. 

Later, we went vintage shopping! I got several recommendations from friends and acquaintances to check out the vintage shopping scene in Amsterdam, and boy did it pay off. Those of you who know me, know that I am a big vintage enthusiast, so this was loads of fun for me! We went to several stores, and I found something to buy in each one! There were different items here than I normally find at home (at home I have the most luck with vintage formal wear, but in Amsterdam, I found all sorts of things I can wear in the everyday!). Judith was amazed at my shopping prowess, and I’ll admit, I do treat shopping, particularly vintage shopping, like a sport. A sport I always win. 

In fact, everything about Amsterdam, and even the other parts of the Netherlands I saw (which was not a huge sample size, I’ll admit), was very aesthetically pleasing. The landscaping and architecture and city planning was all so measured and neat, but not in a harsh, sharp way, more in a quietly organized way. All of the shops had lovely displays, the lights were all set up to reflect off the canal waters with a rather magical effect. I don’t know, it all just seemed so aesthetically aware, like *everything* was straight out of tumblr photo post (thus the title of this blog post). 

The next day, we left even earlier in an attempt to make it to the Anne Frank house, however, even though we got there quite soon after opening, the line was insanely long. I didn’t want to waste a whole day waiting in line, so I took a picture next to the sign and moved on. I’m a little sad I missed it, but hey, it gives me a reason to go back and visit!

All the cheese

After that, Judith wanted to show me the red light district. It was the middle of the day by then, so it was a little tamer than Judith said it could be. Nevertheless I didn’t quite know what to expect, so it was a tad startling to see women sitting in windows, watching and gesturing at strangers. It reminded me a little bit of a human vending machine. We did a fairly quick walk through, as there wasn’t really much to see or do, and then we got lunch, and wandered and shopped a little more. We went into a super touristy cheese shop near the train station. We sampled many cheeses and I learned that my family had been atrociously mispronouncing “Gouda” forever. 

We went back early that day since it was the 31st, so we could relax before our New Year’s celebrations. Judith’s boyfriend joined us for a fireworks show in Rotterdam. So, Rotterdam is not like many other cities in the Netherlands (visually at least). It’s very new, and very ‘city’ as I have always thought of cities (steel, concrete, skyscrapers, grid system roads). This is because Rotterdam was obliterated during WWII, and had to be rebuilt from scratch (I lied, *this* is the end of Fun Trivia With Austen). Coincidentally, Rotterdam is also where my grandma’s family originates. Funny. 

Anyway, New Year’s in the Netherlands was terrifying. People can not only purchase their own fireworks, but they also just set them off on city street corners for hours leading up to the New Year. It sounded like gunshots at first. Sometimes, people would lob fireworks or firecrackers into crowds of people, which is actually quite dangerous! I was genuinely worried I might lose a finger or an eye, or at least end up with a singed coat. Luckily, I made it out of the night unscathed, and the legitimate fireworks show was quite lovely! It was kind of strange, though, to hear everybody shouting the final countdown in Dutch! And once the New Year hit, I realized that it was only 5 pm at home! I was separated from my friends and family by a whole year! Strange thoughts. 

It was the first time I’d ever really been *out* out on New Year’s, since even when I’m not spending it with my family, I’m usually vegging out inside somewhere with friends (it’s very cold in Chicago, no one sane wants to be outside in the middle of the night in the dead of winter), so it was nice to get out (even if it was freezing). And I’m glad I got to spend it with Judith! Unfortunately for me, I had to get up quite early the next day to fly out to Paris!

Christmas Czech Point

The adventure is on! 

Excitement (hopefully), romance (uhh…), and mishaps (with a money-back guarantee)—just a few of the many things everyone has anticipated about my solo jaunts across Europe. Instead of going home for 2 weeks for the holidays this year when I’d just have to come back to take my exams before heading to the States for good, I decided to run around the Continent a see the sights. Part of which, I have planned to do alone (*queue shrieks of terror from all my relatives*). This has unsettled many adults in my family who have seen Liam Neeson’s crowning achievement “Taken” a few too many times. Luckily, I, unlike Neeson’s street-naive daughter, do not plan on telling any strange men where my hotel is and what my room number is, and therefore do not anticipated being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. 

So far, that plan is working. Rest assured guys. 

My first stop on my own was Prague in the Czech Republic, where I spent Christmas. It was the most relaxing Christmas of my life, I’m not gonna lie. 

I stayed at this swanky hotel, the Art Nouveau Palace, which was almost a little too glamorous for me (I said “almost”). It had the most beautiful breakfast buffet I’ve ever seen in my life, with smoked salmon, pate, eggs, bacon, pancakes, and they served some kickass coffee, too. 

I arrived in Prague after a long and arduous journey: I had a layover in London Heathrow (and we all know how I feel about Heathrow: I hate it, and it was an airport designed by an idiot). Then, upon arriving at the Prague airport, I had to go through passport control since I was entering the EU from beyond. Now, in these European countries, they have lines for European passports, where people just zoom right on through, and then a line for everyone else, which is where I ended up waiting for an hour. It was hot, it was late, I was tired, and I had hired a car service to pick me up at the airport that I was praying would wait for me. Eventually, I was next in line to get my passport stamped, but as soon as the family in front of me was finished, the man in the booth put up a sign and shouted to go to another window. I was at my wit’s end by this point, and might have half shouted “No!” in the middle of the airport before running and shoving my way to the shortest line, near tears of frustration. Or, we could all choose to believe that I handled myself with grace, dignity, and poise. 

To their credit, the car company did wait over an hour for me at the airport. And after an ordeal of a day, I spent that evening languishing in the massive bed I had all to myself. 

View of Prague Castle from across the Vltava

I went exploring over the next few days. Prague was the one city for which I had no real expectations going in; honestly I went to Prague purely on the recommendation of others, and boy did it pay off. Overall, there wasn’t a ton “to do” in Prague, but it was an absolutely lovely city for walking and wandering. Apparently it was one of the few major cities that was spared bombing during the 20th century wars, which means that quite a bit of it’s old architecture remains intact to this day. The city was filled with rambling streets and a myriad of Art Nouveau style buildings in Easter egg colors. 

Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Square

I explored various Christmas markets, and did quite a bit of souvenir shopping at the market in the Old Town Square. It was picturesque (though there wasn’t any snow!), especially at night when all the lights were turned on. And it was massive, making the dinky little market in Daley Plaza in Chicago look like a toy version. One day, for breakfast, I had a trdelnik, a traditional Czech pastry that is essentially just dough covered in sugar, so where could you go wrong, really?

Aside from just wandering around and eating things at the Christmas Markets, I did try to do some sightseeing. There were several small niche-interest museums that I visited including the Kafka Museum, the Museum of Communism, and the Mucha Museum. Now, when I say “small” and “niche” I mean in a house or on a side street in an old shop front. The Kafka Museum was cool, though definitely trippy and would not make any sense to someone who was unfamiliar with Kafka. It was fun and I got through the whole space in just over an hour. The exhibits were a strange, and sometimes startling, mix of historical artifacts (mostly letters, a few drafts, some photos, and even an object like a watch now and then) with audio-visual…experiences…I’m honestly not entirely sure how else I would describe them. There were often eerie sound effects in areas where reading letters between Kafka and his father, and a strange video interpreting one of Kafka’s most contentious and mysterious works, “The Castle”, along with many other oddities. But it was interesting and informative, and definitely a fun way to pass the time for an hour or so. 

The Museum of Communism was tucked away near on of the main modern shopping thoroughfares, the sort of place that you wouldn’t be able to find unless you knew exactly where to look, but I think it was well worth it. The museum was bursting with artifacts from its own Communist history, many of which were quite fascinating, though I wish I’d had the foresight to book a guided tour in advance, as I think a tour guide might have helped bring the exhibits to life. There were old uniforms, exhibits about propaganda and political cartoons (the ones they used against the US were particularly amusing, and not altogether irrelevant today actually). My favorite exhibits were the small recreations of Communist era rooms. There was even a rather moving video about the history of resistance against Czech Communism and the events leading up to the Velvet Revolution in 1989. I found myself crying right there in public after watching that video—I sometimes forget that Communism was a very real and very scary and very unironic thing in many parts of the world. However, the museum gift shop did not kowtow to such emotional sentiments. This gift shop was, in fact, the most self-aware and ironic gift shop I have ever been in. Naturally it was the perfect place to get all of Ethan’s souvenirs. 

Me and Lenin 

The Mucha Museum was lovely and very conveniently located just across the street from my hotel. I popped in on Christmas Eve and had a look around. I’ve loved Alphonse Mucha for quite a while (but the aesthetics of Art Nouveau have always appealed to me), so this museum, filled with a range of his works, including many of his most famous posters and subjects, was a dream and the perfect thing for me to do on Christmas Eve. Chances are, you’d probably recognize some of Mucha’s more famous works, actually, as his whole aesthetic is making a comeback. I’ll include some photos of his stuff. 

Mucha's Flower Series

Aside from the niche museums, I found ways to keep myself busy. One night, I happened upon a woman selling tickets to a Christmas Carol Concert that would take place in a Medieval church. How could I say now to that? Plus, with the insanely favorable exchange rate, the ticket was only like $3 (everything in Prague was so cheap it was incredible). I had to wander around a bit to actually find the church, but it was gorgeous. The concert was really fun as well, the choir performed Christmas carols from around the world in their original languages. 

Views of Prague from Petrin Hill Park

On Christmas Day I slept in and then decided to take a walk in the famous Petrin Park on the other side of the river. It was quite warm on Christmas, and the park turned out to be on a rather steep hill, so by the time I got to the top, my coat had come off, I was red-faced, and out of breath. But the views of the city were definitely worth it. Plus I got a little exercise in and saw Prague’s own mini version of the Eiffel Tower (I didn’t go up because it was going to be another 200-some stairs). I took the famous Charles Bridge back across the river, and then had a lovely traditional Czech dinner in the hotel restaurant before a 4 hour Skype session with my family. 

And back down the hill...

Overall, it was a really really lovely holiday. I don’t think I’ve ever really just been out and about on Christmas Day before, so it was nice to just sort of wander at my leisure, it felt very luxurious, though I did miss my insane family a bit (is this better than eccentric guys? *wink wink*). 

My Roman Holiday II

Part 2: When In Rome

Ok, ok, I know. It's been like a month since I was actually in Rome and I'm just finishing up the Rome posts now. Sorry, I was busy, I do have actual school work to do sometimes guys, and I just finished up paper season (phew).

In fair Rome is where we had set our scene. It was sunny and warm and I'd just had a wonderful little morning with my mom and aunt at an outdoor market. The rest of the day was decidedly less eventful. Mostly we just wandered around, we did some shopping, mom got her pair of custom made sandals (which she sort of needs since she has, essentially, child-sized feet), and we looked at some landmarks. I made it my personal mission that day to pick up every ironic postcard of the pope that I laid my eyes on, and boy was it a fruitful day. Everyone seemed to make some fun purchases, and we ate some yummy pizza and saw the sights.

The Trevi fountain was nice, though it was a little disappointing since there was a fence up around it and the fountain was devoid of water (wah wah), but it was cool nonetheless to see if "close up" (we couldn't get that close--see: fence). Then we walked all the way over to the Spanish Steps. It was getting kind of dark by then, and the plaza at the bottom of the steps was very, very crowded. I didn't even realize we were looking at the Spanish Steps until someone told me because, honestly, it was just a large outdoor staircase, and there wasn't much that made it stand out (yes I know, a heretical thing of me to say. I promise, I am an appreciator of art and architecture, but really, after several days of being on my feet all day with no alone time, can you blame me for being rather unenthused about a staircase, famous or not?). It, too, was fenced off, so, yeah that gives you a sense of the sightseeing portion of our Sunday.

At the end of the day, one of my aunts (cousins? again with the family tree and title thing) wanted to visit the Gucci store. Of course, me being me, I followed her and her husband in like a duckling following its mother because I was intensely curious to see the inside of a real designer boutique. I mean, the fanciest store I've ever been inside in my life is probably Lord and Taylor. I felt a bit like an imposter, like if I didn't walk right on my relatives' heels, someone would sniff me out and a salesperson would gracefully push me out the front door with their carefully gloved hands. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it was all just so dreadfully chic and glamorous.

I found it fascinating to watch as someone bought an actual designer handbag from a designer boutique. It was probably the largest purchase I've ever witnessed someone make, aside from when my parents bought their car (though the car dealership wasn't nearly as aesthetically pleasing or amenable, I mean, they brought out free water in little glass bottles, with crystal tumblers to serve in all on a dark lacquered tray. I mean...).

After that, and a lot more walking, and quite a bit of time being lost, we made it back to the hotel and went out to dinner, sort of as a way to celebrate my last night there. Dinner was nice, I was exhausted, and we had to take a ton (and I mean, a ton) of group photos. I had a fairly tearful goodbye the next morning with my family, as they all piled into a van to go on their food tasting tour of the city, and I waited in the hotel lobby for my cab to the airport to arrive. I hadn't really realized until that moment how much I missed the sense of familiarity that comes from home, even just from being around other Americans (I haven't met more than one or two in Leeds). It was a strange, makeshift, portable version of home, but nonetheless, it was decidedly less foreign and I felt that.

I didn't have to miss it for too long though. Hahahaha. Haha. Ha. Ha...

I got all the way to the airport, stood in line, and when I got up to the check in counter, found out that my flight was extremely delayed due to some monster fog that had eaten the Netherlands. Consequently I was going to miss my connection back to Leeds. Yes. I stood there in the airport, breathing very deeply, insisting that the counter employee check every single flight back to Leeds that day. She kept clicking her mouse, mumbling to herself in Italian, and shaking her head, while I stood there focusing all of my energy on not crying in public. I tried not to think about the fact that I had three classes the next day, or the strict attendance policy Leeds seems to promote, or any of that. Nonetheless, I was stressed. I mean, I was Princess-Mia-driving-the-Mustang stressed. I was breathing very heavily, which made the airline person glance up in concern at me a few times. Finally, she said something to the effect of well, I see no solution for you today, but I can book you on a flight tomorrow! TOMORROW. Apparently, this fog was so crazy that a whole bunch of flights were disrupted, and so many passengers were displaced that every flight to Leeds, on every airline flying out of Rome to every possible connecting city was absolutely full.

Just my luck.

I was sort of in a daze as I accepted my new boarding pass, asking where I could find a cab. I didn't really see any other option except to just go back to the hotel. By this point I was totally out of cash, so I had to wait a while until a cab with a credit card reader could pick me up. I continued to do my paper-bag breathing (sans paper bag) all the way back to the hotel, where I walked up through the front doors to the astonishment of the concierge at the desk who had seen me off in the morning. I sort of just shrugged my shoulders and said, well, I'm back. He was very kind, asking me if everything was alright, and if my family knew what had happened. They didn't (since my phone didn't work unless I had wifi). Well, he said, this will be a nice surprise for the Aquinos (which he, and everyone else, insisted on pronouncing "Ah-KWEE-no", saying that it was an Italian name, even when we said it was pronounced differently in Southeast Asia. That's a different story, though).

I was so distraught and caught up in the stress (as I am wont to do) that I completely forgot for a while that if I was going to be stranded somewhere, at least I was stranded in ROME. Eventually I calmed down and managed to let my family know what had happened, then settled in to catch up on some homework before they came back. I sat at the desk with the window open and a cup of coffee and I felt a little better. My family was very sympathetic, and I treated myself to another plate of tiramisu at dinner that night (I deserved it).

Then I had to do the tearful goodbye again. My family was scheduled to leave early early the next day to catch a train to Venice, but my flight wasn't until the afternoon. I woke up briefly to say goodbye to my mom and aunt, but I was only half awake really. When I woke up again a few hours later, I was alone in the room, which made me feel a little blue and achy, but was what I had expected really.

This time, I actually made it back to Leeds. Of course, the universe wasn't going to make it easy though. The wrong terminal was printed on my boarding pass, so I ended up having to walk 2 terminals over, which was fine. But then, I had to take a tram all the way to the international terminal, and then I got on a bus to go out to the tarmac to actually get on the plane (which I really hate doing, it's just so much shuffling). After a few hours we landed in London Heathrow, which is just a hot mess, let me tell you.

I had to first figure out which terminal I was transferring too, since this would be a domestic and not an international flight, and it turns out that I would have to take a 20 minute long bus ride to my connecting terminal. There, I had to check in and pick up my boarding pass. All I had was the flight and ticket number that the woman from the day before (when I didn't cry in public) had written on the back of my first boarding pass. The man at the counter seemed a little confused, but eventually he sorted it out. Then I had to stand in line for another 45 minutes to get through passport control. They only had 1 person stamping passports that weren't UK/EU. Oh joy. Then it was another 30 minutes through security, and by then I only had 15 minutes to pick up a sandwich before I was scheduled to board. But of course, after running through the terminal to make it, I get there and find out that my connection has been delayed a half hour. Wonderful. I love traveling. So much fun. Adventure.

I made landed in Leeds only to be welcomed by insanely thick fog. Gotta love that fog. It was 8:30 PM before I actually made it back to my room where I promptly fell onto the bed in exhaustion.

After Italy, going back to school, going back to cold, damp, dark England felt like being pushed into the deep end of the pool: you sink all the way to the bottom and have to fight for some momentum in order to get yourself back up to the air, struggling to breath the whole way. I felt like Dorothy at the end of the story, when she leaves the Technicolor dream world of Oz and heads back to literally gray Kansas. While there isn't nearly as much corn and dust as Kansas, Northern England can certainly rival Kansas in dull grayness. I guess that every time it's cold and windy and rainy here (i.e. every single day), I'll just have to remember that I'll always have Rome.

My Roman Holiday I

Part 1: This Is What Dreams Are Made Of

The place: Rome (duh). The holiday: Halloween (I know, it’s a weird one, but that’s just how the scheduling worked out, ok?)

Panorama of the Forum from atop the Palatine Hill

This week it was time to take my weekend trips up a notch, so instead of touring the UK, I ventured all the way to Italy. While I didn’t bust out of a palace, get a sassy new haircut, and hang out with Gregory Peck, or get mistaken for an Italian pop star and sing at an international music festival, for one glorious long weekend, I still got to run around Roma! 

I left after several weeks of straight mist, clouds, damp, and no spotting of the elusive sun. My flight was at the ridiculous hour of 6 AM, but I flew KLM, so it was not so bad (as you know from previous posts, I am now a big fan of KLM). The flight from Leeds to Amsterdam Schipol was very short and quite pleasant, I mostly napped and they gave us delicious little sandwiches to eat en route. My connection at Amsterdam was fairly harried, however. When I booked the flights, I thought for sure that a little more than an hour would be plenty of time for my transfer after I’d made one already getting to Leeds in September. It seemed like it would be no big deal at all. 

Well I was certainly wrong. I didn’t realize that when entering the EU common travel area, I would have to pass through passport control! Yeah immigration! I had dutifully followed the signs trying to get to my terminal, when I rounded a corner and saw a mass of people just standing still. My stomach dropped. I looked at my phone, I had 45 minutes. I looked at the crowd, and it seemed like more than 45 minutes worth of people. I did my best to bob and weave and rather ungracefully shove my way as close to the front of the line as possible. Even still, by the time I made it past the immigration officer (who seemed suspicious of me…?) with my stamped passport, I had to sprint to my gate to make my connection on time. That certainly must have been a site: a wild-eyed girl with an overstuffed blue backpack running and panting through the airport. I know how to travel in style, at least. 

The second flight was not so eventful. I napped, I watched as we flew over the Alps. It was fun to see the tiny little towns tucked away in the valleys up there, the lines of the hills punctuated with shiny blue lakes was amazing. Finally I landed at Rome Fiumicino airport. The pilot gave the typical landing city information, and I swear to god, I actually cried a little bit when he said that it was 22 Centigrade, and I looked at the cloudless sky from the tiny plane window. This is not a hyperbole, this is not a figure of speech that I am using, there were real tears welling up at the corner of my eyes because of the weather. I stripped my coat and sweater in favor of my tank top, hopped in a cab, rolled down the windows, and made my way to Rome! 

The Hotel Capo D’africa was so lovely. That’s really the best word for it: lovely. It was tucked away on a little side street just around the corner from the Colosseum. I found my family supremely jet-lagged and making themselves right at home on the lobby furniture. Par for the course, though. 

Admiring the sun and the view from the hotel window

A little word about my family: it was mom’s side (the white side) that went on this trip as a way to rediscover their ancestry or some such thing. The “lively” group included: my mom, my aunt Linda, my uncle Michael, my aunt Lu, my aunt (cousin?) Amelia , my aunt/cousin/something Noreen, and her husband Paul (not even gonna try with that relationship title). They told me to be gentle, but honestly it really wasn’t the Swiss Family Nightmare it could easily have become. It was sort of fun and enlightening, actually, to watch my family members try out being new people, or wake up parts of themselves that had long or always been dormant, like this was a vacation from their normal selves as well as their normal lives. 

Regardless, I promised not to be too critical or depreciating, and I assured them that I would never do that on the internet. 

Anyways! We got settled in our rooms and then I was ready to go out and explore, whether my poor jet-lagged family wanted to nap or not! Off we went exploring—my mom, aunt Linda and I got some snacks at a little street cafe before heading down the block (down the block!) to the Colosseum. It was wonderful and crazy and sort of surreal, honestly. We crossed a street and suddenly there it was. The Colosseum was right there, just a few feet away. I kept looking up at it as we walking the path around the perimeter. My mom and aunt were quite amused because I just kept saying “There it is. That’s the Colosseum. The Colosseum. Right there. I mean, I’ve seen it in pictures and textbooks. But now here it is. Right there. I mean, I could touch it! Wait, can I go touch it?” It was the pinnacle of the “old things” I had seen so far this semester, a feat of ancient Roman engineering right there for me to marvel at. 

There it is! Right there!

We made dinner reservations that night for 8 pm, but my family started the cocktail hour at like 4:30 (which they continued to do every night to my great amusement. They even became buddies with the bar tender. I found it a bit strange, but I’ve always found bar culture to be kind of weird). We had dinner that first night at a sweet little restaurant called Papagio, and it was delicious and painful. My family went a little crazy ordering the appetizers, we had a meat plate, these big, beautiful grilled mushrooms, some sort of cheese goop made with truffles over a bed of arugula (I forget what it was called, so we are going with “goop”), and something else I can’t remember anymore. I had my fill of those and would have left fully satisfied after that. But then came the entrees. I had gnocchi bolognese and it was amazing, but I could barely finish I was so uncomfortably stuffed. But I had to finish, so that I could justify getting desert. They had tiramisu on the menu, and I was not leaving without it, even if they had to roll me out Violet Beauregarde style. And boy, was the pain and suffering worth it, because that tiramisu was so good, I swear it was made by the hand of actual angels. Actual. Angels. Sure I had trouble sitting down the rest of the night, but aside from the several more hours my family sat at the bar after dinner, I really just went to sleep to rest for the big day of touristing ahead. 

Made by literal angels. 

The next day was true tourist day: 2 guided tours scheduled to the max. In the morning we had a private guided tour of ancient Roman historical sites. Our tour guide was a sweet man named Giuseppe, how rubbed his chin whenever he answered a question and was very excited about Roman history. He told us about the famous sites he helped excavate as a student studying archaeology, and I felt I had a kindred spirit in him. I spent most of the 3 hour long tour walking next to him, chatting about Roman history and asking lots of questions as my family trailed behind, taking pictures while I hogged all the learning for myself. 

Inside the Colosseum!

Palatine Terrace

We went to the Colosseum (inside this time!), the Forum, the terrace atop the Palatine palace, to several triumphal arches, and to the Pantheon. The Forum was particularly fun for me because, as we walked through, it made me think of a passage from the Aeneid (yes I know, I am total nerd, let’s move on), where Aeneas is walking around the Palatine hill before he has even settled and founded the city that would become Rome, and he is seeing what will someday be there, the grandeur and splendor of the city he is about to establish. I just found it super neat to walk around the same place Aeneas was supposed to have walked, while seeing what once was, seeing the past instead of the future. That’s just me, though. Giuseppe was quite impressed by my extensive knowledge of ancient Roman history, and was calling me “his assistant” by the end of the tour, asking me to help him fill in gaps. It was quite fun, actually! He even said that I had what it takes to be a tour guide like him in Rome (which is actually a pretty good gig in Europe, and is something I will definitely add to the list of future ). Needless to say, we are now best friends. 

The Oculus in the Pantheon!

After a quick trip to Piazza Navona, we had a speedy lunch, and then it was off to the Vatican Museum for our second guided tour of the day. Now, the Vatican Museum was beautiful and bursting with incredible works of art, but it just wasn’t what I was expecting. Everything went through a travel agent my family dealt with, and I sort of just showed up and hung around a bit, so I didn’t know many of the details of the trip. So when I heard “Vatican” and “tour”, I assumed we would be getting a tour of the Papal collections and residences, not just the Vatican’s collection of art, so in that sense it was a little disappointing. On top of that, I was pretty beat from the tour in the morning and a very small, rushed lunch (I was still fairly hungry actually). Also, it was so crowded, that we couldn’t spend much time looking at any one piece. 

I got a quick look at a famous statue of Laocoön and his sons (another Aeneid geek moment for me), and we didn’t even get to see the hallway full of statues where the crazy pope hacked all the genitals off the male figures. It was really cool to see things like The School of Athens, which I had studied in class before, but by the time we got to the Sistine Chapel, I was so exhausted and ready to go, and the whole time the guards just kept shushing the crowd. It was like a can of sardines in there, we had 20 minutes, and so I didn’t feel I got to fully appreciate the splendor of the Chapel, didn’t get to see everything the way I wished I could have. By the time we finally escaped into open air, I was stir crazy, exhausted, and sad that it was already dark out (I wanted to spend as much time in the sun as I could manage knowing I was going back to the dark place in a few days). We went into the Basilica, which was rather breathtaking in its scale. I saw the Pieta, which was masterful, and wandered around trying to grasp the size of the place. Nevertheless, after 10-15 minutes I’d had my fill and was itching to go do anything else. I was pacing pretty impatiently waiting for my relatives to finish at the gift shop and somehow it got communicated that I was on the verge of “a meltdown”. Really, I just wanted to go do something fun after feeling like I’d wasted 4-5 precious hours in Rome. 

The word “meltdown” seemed to stir up quite a fuss around me, as the relatives hustled to get me out. Then there was a quite a bit of hoopla around trying to get a cab to take us to a covered market I’d seen and expressed interest in earlier, but no one could remember exactly where it had been, and we couldn’t hail two cabs, and then one of my aunts flagged down a hoard of police officers to ask them about it, and the whole while, I was staving off some more tangible panic. If there is one thing I do not like, it is people stressing over me. When I am fussed over, I tend to freak out and curl into a ball. So I spent quite a bit of time hanging out with Paul, who imparted some touching words of wisdom: he said, really, you just have to learn not to care. Sure you’ll be disappointed sometimes, but you have to just not care. That’s the secret. When I expressed my guilt over having caused such hoopla, Paul said, oh there’s nothing to feel bad about. With this group, if it wasn’t you, it was going to be something else. In fact, with this group, chaos would’ve happened no matter what, like spontaneous combustion. Just a quick shout out, thanks Paul, that was literally the exact thing I needed to hear at that moment. 

The next day was much better. While the most of the family chose to sleep in a little bit, mom, aunt Linda, and I got up a little earlier and went off on an adventure to a famous outdoor market called Porta Portese, named for the ancient city gate that marks the start of the market stalls. We beat the crowds by 2 hours, and took our time wandering from stall to stall (and man did it take time: the market was massive, it must’ve gone on for more than a mile!). I got some lovely Italian leather handbags, and a silver necklace for dirt cheap, mom broke out her haggling skills (it didn’t go exactly as planned), and got herself a beautiful green leather jacket, and aunt Linda got a bag and some scarves and officially became “Euro-Linda”. It was so fun, and so peaceful, and just nice to be out and about early in the morning with the sun shining. 

If you’ve read up to this point, you can probably understand why I’m stopping here (this post is very long), but stay tuned for Part II. Rome was so amazing, and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to wander down those cobblestone paths, and drink good coffee and wine, and feel the sun forever. I think Lizzie McGuire got it right, this is what dreams are made of. Hey now, hey now!

Onwards and Upwards

Thoughts from Ports and Planes of the Air Variety

Part 1: Pre-Journey

So here I am. Waiting at the airport. Just waiting. The worst part and also the best. I am a rather anxious person and I hate sitting, just sitting, at the gate, waiting for what comes next. Yet, at the same time, I also find waiting at the terminal relaxing in a way. Perhaps I’m just exhausted, but I’ve always found that there’s something about passing through security, the absolute focus and presence of mind required, that induces a calm.

I’ve found a place near the wall of windows, watching luggage being loaded onto the plane and the distant rise and fall of planes in the distance. Their tails seem like shiny sails on the horizon of the opposite facing terminal as they taxi. 

***

I’m sitting here now, taking a quick breather before I go and gather some supplies for  the flight. Seeing as I’ll be landing in Amsterdam at 6:30 am local time (or 11:30 pm CST), I feel as though I should procure some breakfast now (who knows how long my layover will take!). Now, I haven’t flown internationally since I was a small child, so I had no recollection of the O’Hare international terminal, but let me tell you, it is fancy! All the shops here are high end, and I don’t just me “for an airport”, I mean it rivals Rodeo Drive. I’m talking diamond stores, a Chanel boutique, free standing Michael Kors and Gucci stores, and everything in between. It makes sense, I suppose, since everything here is tax and duty free, but some of these stores I’ve never seen before in my life, and here they are, at the airport of all places! It is strange though, some of these designer stores are selling clothing. Do people actually go shopping in these stores, try on clothing and then pack it in their luggage to get on the plane? That feels excessive, and yet slightly glamorous.

***

Wow, even the coffee shops are fancy in this terminal! I’m talking Italian roasts and beautiful little gems of pastries, not just a step or two up from Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts. The place is spelled “kōfê” that’s how fancy it is.”

***

The biggest thing I’m thinking about right now as I stare out on the Tarmac while doing purposeful, calming breathing to stave off nerves (or attempt to at least), is just how real this all it. This morning, even though I was packed and checked in, I still work up like a normal day and watched TV with my dog. Then, in a matter of a few hours, I’m facing the big wide world. It’s a realization that hit me like a concrete wall, suddenly there with an unmatched impact. I feel as though I’m in a Magritte painting, standing in my family room at home, but when I turn around, the fourth wall lead to Leeds, to something so big and unknown that I can’t even imagine it in the frame yet!

I’m sitting here, receiving an influx of well wishing texts, and I’m asking myself, am I ready? I’m holding on for dear life to all the “good luck” people are sending me, trying to grasp what I’m getting myself into and realizing that, ready or not, I’m on my way!

***

Part 2: Over the Ocean

So, I’m on the plane, and man is it cramped in economy. I always forget how much more cramped international long-haul flights are compared to smaller city hopper planes. I mean, I’m sitting here and my knees are touching the seat in front of me. I was barely apple to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me! Sure, they provide you with a little pillow and blanket, but my legs are cramping already. It’s gonna be a long 7 hours. 

But then again, I have spent 28 hours on a train before with just snacks, and no bathroom amenities available. It was rough, but I did it. I was able to sleep and I didn’t die. It wasn’t “all right” by any standards, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. So if I could do that, then this flight will be a piece of cake. 

***

I always forget just how noisy the interior of airplanes are. I have this mental image of lulling silence, perhaps just the whisper of cutting through the clouds. But then, I sit down and the air pumping through is deafening and the gravely sound of the captain’s announcement is always too loud or too quiet. 

I ended up listening to several episodes of This American Life, and found out that the Sprite on KLM tastes rather strange. Not unpalatable like diet soda, just bitter and off. Curious. 

***

I’ve decided that I really like KLM however. We got hot tea towels before dinner to freshen up. Nothing is more welcome in the chilly, dry, reconstituted air. Another plus, the girl next to me moved to a different seat, so now I have significantly more room! 

Dinner was a pleasant and satisfying surprise! Airplane food always seems to get a bad wrap and my only experience eating an actual meal mid air was when I went to the Philippines 11 years ago. We flew China Airlines and all I remember was that the eggs came with ketchup on them (yuck) and there was what I thought was Jello, but turned out to be salty gelatin with olives suspended in it (double yuck). When KLM brought out dinner, I received a warm and tasty veggie pasta, a small salad, a warm dinner roll, cheese and crackers, a small chilled bottle of water, and a yummy and heaping slice of carrot cake. It was a simple meal, yet somehow both aesthetically pleasing and delicious! Even the plastic silverware was nicely presented and of such a good quality that I briefly considered taking them with me (not a joke, I actually thought about it for longer than I should’ve). And the water bottle was so cute A convenient size and it had silhouettes of bicycles and wooden clogs (so Dutch) on the label! I feel so much better!

***

At home it would be 9:20 pm, and I’ve sleep in small doses for an hour or so, but there is a group of old women behind me who have been cackling and hitting the back of my seat and pulling it backward (why though?) throughout the night, despite the fact that the cabin lights are off and it is deadly silent. 

It’s really hitting me though, sitting in the dark on this plane, that when I land in 2 hours, I’ll be in Europe, a completely different continent, for the first time. I’ll have lost 7 hours somewhere out there over the ocean. It’s astounding. I feel like I’m in one of those cartoons where the map scrunched up and all of a sudden you’re at your destination, or like Mrs. Whosit and Mrs. Whatsit just grabbed me by the hand and pulled me through a wrinkle. 

I think the biggest thing that I’ve come to realize is that, objectively, I know that the rest of the world is out there and I have mental images of several place, but to an extent all those places only exist in theory or in the abstract to me. They don’t become real until I have a physical understand of the place. 

***

Part 3: Austen in Europe

Holy cow I’m in Europe. 

I thought it would me more different. But it isn’t. Looking from the plane window, I wouldn’t be able to tell where we were aside from all the signs, which are in Dutch. There were trees and highways with cars and streetlights. I think that unsettled me more than if I had landed amongst gingerbread houses and stone castles. It actually reminds me a little bit of Midway, though less urban. 

***

I’m sitting in Amsterdam Schiphol at my “gate” and I’m fairly certain I’m going to have to take a shuttle onto the tarmac to board my connection. Interesting. How Casablanca. Also, shoutout to Willow, Vickey, and Ryan for the comforting voice messages I found waiting for me when I was able to turn my wifi back on! You guys are incredible and I miss you loads!

***

Yup, I was right about the plane. A good pay off though since this short distance plane was much roomier than the long haul plane. 

The last real and truly stressful hurdle that I have to face now is immigration. I deeply regret not applying for my visa ahead of time no matter how much of a nuisance it seemed then. It would’ve given me so much more peace of mind now. But what’s done is done. I’m just hoping that they give me the correct visa stamp and don’t send me back to the US after 30 days (or immediately). Though, during my layover I ran through all of the scenarios that frighten me and none of them ends with me dying or homeless. So that’s a positive. It would be a set back, and I might honestly have a panic attack in the middle of the airport, but the Earth wouldn’t fall out of the sky and neither would I. 

***

While Schiphzl reminded me of Midway, Leeds Bradford reminds me of when I flew into Hartford, CT. So tiny, and in the middle of nowhere it seems. Surprising, really, considering how large Leeds is. 

But I got my visa without a hitch! Yeah, they let me! And I made it safe and sound to my room at Devonshire Hall! It’s a sweet little “flat” as they say, with a nice view of the courtyard. (There aren’t any screen on the windows, though, do I just let the bugs and birds fly inside?)